


the kitchen sink, and worse

by Kells



Series: The Varied Adventures of the Captain and Mrs. Cap [6]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 40s Catholics, Clint is a disaster when Tasha's not there to stop him, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Gen, Steph and Bucky do what they want, Tony is as Tony does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kells/pseuds/Kells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stark,” Clint started uncertainly, “I really think the 40s Catholics are getting it on in your kitchen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. on the mating habits of arcade sharks

**Author's Note:**

> change of pace! because the other two things I am dealing with involving these guys are getting so very stressful I decided it was time to stop and do something fun for a little bit. Thus: Steph, Bucky, the kitchen sink, and Clint and Tony getting into mess without Tasha around to save them from themselves.
> 
> timeline-wise I would put this after the Loki fic, before the next thing, with Tasha and the others off on some smaller-scale mission not requiring super-soldiers or science bros.

“Stark,” Clint started uncertainly, “I really think the 40s Catholics are getting it on in your kitchen.”

Tony glared at his phone.

“Is this a dream, Hawkeye? Bruce, are we awake?”

His teammates were no help at all: Bruce, working placidly at his own station in the lab, just rolled his eyes while Clint kept talking like Tony had never spoken.

“I just wanted coffee, man, but what do I hear when I get to your kitchen? ‘You wanna help me out with that, gorgeous girl?’ in this completely weird voice, all throaty, and she says ‘Arcade shark, I’ve been waiting days for-’”

“‘Arcade shark’?”

“Yeah, you know. The Irish thing Thor translates wrong but she won’t ever say what it really means.”

Tony turned to Bruce.

“I have to go see what Cap and Steph are doing. Possibly to each other. Wanna come? There might be a shark involved.”

“No, thank you,” Bruce said politely. “He probably wants a sandwich or something.”

Tony shrugged and headed for the kitchen as Clint vehemently rebutted Bruce’s contribution.

“She’s been waiting days to help him make a sandwich? _What?_ Anyway, I looked in on them before I called you, and she has him backed way up against the sink. That is not normal courtship behaviour, Stark.”

“I think most of their courtship took place in the ‘30s. Maybe before that, they were engaged before they turned six. This isn’t SHIELD, anyway; you don’t have to report fraternization to me. But you should if you want to, I’m not complaining.”

“Yeah, but it’s the kitchen! We cook in there! Well, some people cook, not you or me, but we eat what people cook in there! Actually I just thought you might want to see this, you’re the one who said they’re too PG-13 to actually have sex. Whoa, wait a- no, it’s fine. All quiet on the 40s Catholics front.”

The thing about their 40s Catholics, Tony thought as he hurried over, was that they were hugely dependable. Steph and Bucky Barnes could be relied upon to do the things 40s Catholics did (based on Tony’s huge sample size of two): they went to Mass practically every day, they cooked unexpectedly delicious old-timey things using ridiculously simple ingredients, and they utilized a complex matrix of pet names the significance of which only they completely understood. They also had a lasting horror of paying for things they could figure out themselves and an unexpected love of 60s pop music. They were pretty cuddly, it was true, but the fact that the Captain and Mrs. Barnes couldn’t seem to go eight minutes without holding hands or bumping shoulders definitely did not add up to what Clint was insinuating.

When Tony finally reached the kitchen, Clint was peeking eagerly around the door. He beckoned enthusiastically, practically vibrating with gleeful horror, if that was a real concept. Tony was still mostly skeptical when he joined Clint, but had to admit that the captain was, in fact, backed up against the sink.

Bucky wasn’t leaning against it like Tony had pictured, though, but sitting in a chair that had been placed in front of it with his head tipped back over the edge. His wife stood to his left, leaning over him. From their vantage point by the door, it looked like she was studying his face with the careful attention she usually reserved for a fight, or for when she was sketching. Bucky was, as Clint had said, just sitting there, smiling softly.

Clint and Tony watched disbelievingly as the hand that had been resting so innocently on Stephanie’s hip snaked round her waist and then slipped lower.

Steph cried “Bucky!” a little reprovingly; her husband laughed but didn’t move an inch. It was an unusually husky laugh for him, but he did have his head almost as far back as it could go. Stephanie grinned a truly wicked grin; before anyone watching guessed what she was planning she moved to straddle her husband’s lap. Bucky jerked in surprise, his eyes wide and a little glassy, but Steph caught his face with both hands and guided him, ever so gently, back to where he had been resting. Unexpectedly, she reached up and turned the water on. The captain actually moaned as his wife slid her hands into his hair under the spray.  

“Too hot, soldier?”

Steph’s voice was a teasing purr Tony could have gone his whole life without hearing from his childhood idol’s porcelain bride.

“No,” the childhood hero murmured.

“You’re just perfect, doll.”

They kissed like they’d learnt to breathe anaerobically- which, to be fair, would have explained a lot about the whole seven-decades-on-ice thing. Steph’s neck was flushed by the time she lifted her head with a breathy giggle. A moment later, Tony realized with something like despair that Bucky was deftly unbuttoning his wife's blouse. 

With his teeth.

When Stephanie- their own sweet Steph- began to suck on her husband’s collarbone with enough force to elicit a low, appreciative growl that did _not_ embody the 40s stoicism they knew and loved in Captain Barnes,  Clint staggered backwards with a hand clapped firmly over his eyes. Tony followed suit bare seconds later, not quite brave enough to keep watching once Bucky’s hands found their way under the hem of his wife’s skirt.

“Steph,” they heard the captain gasp, “Ease up, a chroí, I wanna see.”

Tony, who very much did not want to see any more than he already had, found himself glancing back in spite of his best intentions- only to squeak in surprise when Bucky, sitting straight up and helping Steph clamber off his lap, met his eyes dead-on. Tony floundered uselessly for some excuse or explanation only to blink in perfect bafflement as the Captain and his erstwhile seductress collapsed against each other and Tony’s poor defiled sink, laughing uproariously.

Wait. 

What?

Clint peered very cautiously back around the corner.

James Barnes, straightening his shirt as Steph did up her blouse with her back to them, grinned broadly. At least he had the decency to be blushing at least as hard as Clint was.

“Like taking candy from a couple of kids. Here, we made coffee. There’s cookies somewhere.”

There was, in fact, a neat row of coffee mugs, arranged in a gradient from Tony’s black with extra tar to Steph’s milk with a hint of coffee, on the table in front of them. Clint went for the cookies in the cupboard as if on autopilot while Tony surged forward, reached for his mug and took an experimental sip. It was indeed coffee, fresh and hot. He must be awake after all, then. 

Stephanie was still giggling faintly as she handed her husband a towel. The captain gave his hair a couple of cursory swipes, then seemed to get bored and left the towel draped round his shoulders to catch drips. Clint was still spluttering slightly. Bucky punched his shoulder good-naturedly as he pushed the last mug towards him. 

“Wait,” Clint realized indignantly, “You guys assumed that Banner-“

“Was going to act like a grown adult?” Steph asked pointedly.“Yes.”

“Close your mouth, Barton; this is mostly your fault anyway.”

Clint looked perplexed. Bucky mimed putting a phone to his ear.

“Enhanced hearing, genius. Once we knew your expectations we thought we’d… exceed them.”

He flashed a smile at Tony, who grinned back in recognition. And relief. Lots of relief.

”It’s just a haircut, guys, jeez.”

That did explain the scissors and comb next to the coffee mugs. And all that giggling. Tony felt _much_ better knowing that they'd been at least a little uncomfortable. It restored his faith in the 40s-ness of them, maybe. Or the Catholic-ness? Maybe the general air of youthful innocence he still associated with their sweetness-and-light partnership in spite of everything they’d been through. Tony sighed admiringly- he’d rarely been so thoroughly had in his life, but of course two special-ops vets _with_ _enhanced senses_ would have been perfectly aware they had company. The whole team knew that the Captain and Agent Barnes were a tactical force to be reckoned with, of course, but Tony had never suspected they could be so devious entirely for their own entertainment.

Clint muttered “Soldier?” like he’d never heard the word before, and Stephanie had to put her mug down as another peal of laughter shook her head to foot. Tony wondered what Howard would have made of the whole affair and for a bittersweet minute missed his dad more intensely than he had in years.

 After the coffee had been drunk and the cookies put away, Stephanie stood up and poked at her husband’s hair critically while Bucky grinned and ducked away from her fingers.

“Yeah, that’s just damp,” she declared- apparently that was a good thing.

"You two jokers wanna stay and watch some more or can the 40s Catholics get a little space? That wasn’t all for your benefit- I do mean to finish what we started.”

 

They were halfway to the stairs when Clint asked the question Tony had almost convinced his brain to avoid altogether.

“She does definitely mean the haircut, right?”

Their only answer was Stephanie’s wicked laughter.

Enhanced hearing. Well goddamn done, Howard.

Tony and Clint trudged to the lab in silence. By unspoken agreement, they also refused to answer even the mildest of Bruce's increasingly smug inquiries. The less they let anyone know, Tony didn't need Clint to say out loud, the more chance they had of hiding the whole sorry affair from Natasha Romanova. 

 


	2. on ways of seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph and Bucky don't love Claes Oldenburg; Clint and Tony continue to be like creepy-yet-supportive older brothers, or something. Tasha is not impressed, except by Steph's use of incentives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some weeks/ a couple of months after the last one, but still before the next long-form thing.  
> Oldenburg sculpture Barneses are not delighted by is this one: http://www.moma.org/interactives/exhibitions/2013/oldenburg/images/thumbnails/retina/CO_soft_sculpture_thumb_retina.jpg

Tony had just wondered out loud how it was possible that most of the team had beaten Captain Barnes and his wife to breakfast when the man himself stumbled into the room, still blinking like the lights were too bright. Clint smirked, going in for the kill immediately.

“Late night, Barnes?”

Before they could tease him properly his wife appeared behind him, yawning and then- incredibly, for her- pouting. Steph was clearly still three-quarters asleep; Bucky watched her with such open affection that Tony had to mime gagging just to safeguard his manly dignity.

“My hair is everywhere,” she complained. “Morning, Clint and Tony.”

Steph flopped gracelessly onto the floor in front of her husband.

“Fix it.”

Clint and Tony exchanged an amused look, but the Captain just nodded agreeably.

“Here, gimme the whatsit. Where’s a brush?”

Steph had brought one with her, so her hair was meticulously plaited in no time flat. She turned to face her husband, beaming her thanks and then listing sideways until her cheek was resting against his thigh. Bucky tugged her braid fondly.

“You know you’re allowed to go back to bed, right?”

Steph shut her eyes resolutely, apparently determined not to move. Bucky shrugged at Clint good-naturedly, but Tony shook his head in mock despair.

“He has his girl literally between his legs and he says 'Go back to sleep.' You know, it doesn’t even surprise me anymore. If you two were any more apple-pie I might actually throw up.”

“Don’t,” Clint advised. “Sam and Sharon are making pancakes. Wilson’s pancakes are the best there are. Pillows of bliss, man. Bliss and carbs.”

“Blarbs,” Steph murmured into Bucky’s jeans, content to ignore Tony entirely. For some reason, that reminded Tony of the email he'd been ridiculing with Clint before Barnes and Barnes had ruined their fit of enjoyably judgmental pique.

“Hey, you two were at the Oldenburg thing last night, weren’t you?”

Cap frowned.

“Yeah. I thought you said he was an artist.”

Tony waved him off, too interested in second-hand gossip to worry about the 1940s reception of 1960s pop art.

“Did you notice anything …untoward?”

“You mean apart from the giant floppy food?”

“Yeah, I just got this email.”

Dora de Witt, museum trustee, wanted Mr. Stark to know that the exhibition itself had been well up to par, but she and those she spoke for would be grateful if his people could be more discreet with their guest list in the future. An otherwise exquisite opening night had almost been ruined by a shocking display of youthful promiscuity, and Dora simply could not let the aberration go unremarked.

“I don’t suppose you two saw that?”

“Nope,” Steph said without opening her eyes. “We definitely didn’t see any promiscuity. There was a huge ugly hamburger, though- that just wasn’t right. Promiscuity isn’t right either. It was awful, Tony, I just looked at Bucky all night.”

She did open her eyes then, gazing up at her husband with sleepy appreciation.

“I like it when you wear colours, your eyes get all bright. You gotta stop with the grey, okay?”

“Sure, Steph. Come on, back to bed. You’re way too loopy for company this morning.”

She let him ease her to her feet as he stood, but turned to wrap her arms around his neck as soon as he was in a position to support her.

“You’re like a giant limpet when you don’t get enough sleep," Bucky complained even as he lifted her easily. "C’mon, Mrs. Barnes. See ya later, guys.”

Tony turned to roll his eyes at Clint only to find him looking positively shrewd.

“What the hell is it, Hawkface?”

“You know what I think? I think they didn’t _see_ the shocking display because they _were_ the shocking display.”

Tony gaped.

“You think James Barnes- our 1940s Catholic James Barnes- is capable of “apparently performing a midnight tonsillectomy”- _on Steph?-_ “using only his lips and sheer force of will”? _At MoMA_?”

Somehow that last part made it all the worse.

“I think he started with that, sure.”

Tony was still speechless, but Clint could see him reluctantly realizing it made perfect sense.

“Come on, they are not this dopey normally. He just bridal-styled her back to bed, Stark. It’s nearly ten, most days they’ve been to church and for a run and started three people on our chores by now.”

Tony read the trustee’s email again, considering this new angle, and began to grin broadly.

“She called him ‘a cad.’ I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud in my entire life. Wait, but then she called Steph ‘a wanton floozy’- I’m going to have to get her kicked off the board for that, aren’t I? JARVIS, make a note. Judgmental bitch, someone should tell her they’ve been married longer than she’s been alive.”

Clint grinned with fraternal, almost possessive satisfaction.

“I guess the 21st Century does agree with those two after all.”

“Please,” Tasha muttered, coming in with a stack of genuinely majestic pancakes. “There is no way they were less of a spectacle back in the day.”

She was too much of a lady to leave Clint hanging when he offered her a celebratory high-five, but she also stared him down with the level expression that meant she knew she had the winning card still up her sleeve.

“I don’t know why you two are acting so surprised,” she said casually. “Given how much time you’ve already spent watching them go at it I’d imagine you could write the how-to guide by now.”

Tony’s wide-eyed look was almost child-like in its guilty horror. He sighed melodramatically.

“You know, I really thought it was going to be a _good_ thing for us when my childhood idol became BFFs with your girlfriend, but instead we have even less privacy than when it was just JARVIS who liked her better than us.”

Tasha smirked, but since she didn’t stab Tony through the palm for using the G-word Clint thought they could call it a win- until she opened her mouth again, probably just to remind them that she _was_ still the Natalia Romanova of Black Widow fame.

“What I really want to know is how she trained him to do her hair like that. Now _that’s_ a skill I’d break out my ‘youthful promiscuity’ to encourage.”


	3. on old friends

“What’s the matter, J?”

Bucky, hunched over one of Tony’s hand-held computer things at the desk in their room, tossed his head dismissively. Steph scowled- she hadn’t spent her entire life learning his every expression so that she could be put off by a half-hearted shrug and a badly-managed smile.

“Bucky. What’s going on?”

He waved her over with an affectionate, exhausted look that meant he had almost certainly been thinking about their friends from before the ice. Draping herself over his shoulders like an oddly shaped cloak, Steph bent to see what he was looking at. She had been braced for anything from an ageing photograph of Brooklyn Heights to another obituary for one of the octogenarians who had once made up Cap’s teenage following, but what she found instead came as a complete surprise. Bucky was staring vacantly at a map of the solar system- just the usual one, not one of Tony’s massive star charts, like the kind they’d used when they’d been tracking the Chitauri. Steph pulled away to scrutinise her husband’s face, but it didn’t _look_ like he was in danger of any kind of flashback. Cautiously, she settled back into place so she could study his diagram too.

“You brushin’ up on astronomy or something?”

His fingers traced the progression of gas giants they had learnt together, coming to rest at the gap Steph hadn’t noticed right away.  

“Doc Richards says Pluto isn’t a planet anymore.”

“ _Anymore?_ Did something happen to it?”

Bucky sighed. His hand drifted lower, pointing out a little blue-lined sphere marked ‘Pluto’ on the map. It wasn’t next to Neptune like it should be, though, but on a parallel track with a bunch of other little spheres with names Stephanie had never seen before.

“It’s a dwarf planet. Apparently there’s five of ‘em.”

Stephanie studied the planets they already knew about first, then turned her attention to the smaller ones. They _looked_ pretty similar, as far as she could tell.

“How is a dwarf planet not a planet?”

It was in the name, even. Bucky shrugged.

“They’re too small, he said. So we’ve got eight real planets, and five that didn’t make the grade.”

Bucky sounded so genuinely depressed about it that Stephanie felt suddenly, deeply grateful that he’d had his first conversation about Pluto’s apparent demotion with Reed Richards, who always struck her as too purely cerebral to make fun of anyone except, occasionally, his brother-in-law. Bucky was pretty good about taking their friends’ ribbing in the spirit it was intended- better than Steph herself, she had to admit- but there were some things she wasn’t sure could really be explained to anyone who hadn’t been a wide-eyed ten-year-old around the time every headline in New York had been some new exultant update about the planet they’d just up and found, right there in their own little solar system.

“Poor Pluto,” Steph murmured. It had been Gary, old enough at sixteen to take a real, grown-up interest in current affairs, who had got the rest of them hyped up about the newest kid on the galactic block. Steph remembered nodding agreeably along while Gary spoke reverently about the wonders of modern technology- like Jack and Hannah, she’d been much more interested in imagining the monstrous alien societies that might be watching them from their new and distant not-quite-neighbour. Bucky, paying roughly equal attention to both those aspects of the situation, had been most interested by far in the ongoing debate over the new planet’s name. He had looked up every candidate with a zeal he’d rarely applied to actual schoolwork, coming back with ancient tales that Steph had found at least as exciting in their own way as the grainy photographs they pored over with their friends.

Even back then, she had known without being told how much it meant to Bucky when Gary had recognised the sudden currency of his friend's otherwise esoteric interest in those old stories. He’d started showing Bucky off right away- Steph found herself trying not to laugh out loud at the memory of Bucky’s shy, slightly baffled grin as a gaggle of teenagers peppered him with questions about how Mars could be married to Venus and what consequences that might have for Earth, stuck like the worst kind of chump between the poor saps.

“Poor Bucky,” she added, turning to kiss his cheek. Steph dropped one of her hands to cover his, making the little planets wobble as the touchscreen responded to their combined touch. “It’s still there, though, right? No one thinks it’s gone or anything.”

“Sure,” he conceded reluctantly. “I guess it was _there_ before 1930, too. But it’s-”

“And it’s got all these other little pals now. Haumea’s not one of your guys, is he? Or she?”

“JARVIS says she’s Hawaiian."

She could hear the smile he was fighting in his voice. "This other one is from Easter Island, and then Eris here is Greek again.”

“The others aren’t _Greek_ ,” Steph cried at once, pulling away in theatrical indignation and trying hard to sound as aggravated as Bucky would have done in 1930. “You gotta keep your Greeks and Romans straight, boss, or what’s the point of havin’ two whole sets of the same buncha guys and their wives?”

“And kids,” Bucky added, because of course he still couldn’t resist. He was grinning as he got to his feet, though. “Look at me, getting all maudlin over a planet. Dwarf planet. I guess that’s how you know we haven’t had to fight any crazy people in more than six days.”

Steph smiled, but spoke more seriously than she thought Bucky was expecting because she knew perfectly well that he hadn’t got so sad missing a planet.

“He’d be so proud of you, you know that?”

Bucky smiled faintly, already self-conscious.

“For hitting HYDRA where it hurt, you mean, or for getting to see space with my own two eyes?”

Steph shuddered in spite of herself- sometimes she thought it’d always be too soon to joke about either of those things.

“Both,” she told her husband firmly, taking hold of his near hand so she could tug him into a loose, reassuring hug. “The rest of it too, a Shéamais.”

Suddenly she grinned.

"And he’da given Loki _such_ a thrashing for every one of those stupid stunts.”

Bucky froze for a second, completely surprised, then gave a strangled bark of laughter which was in turn cut off when he caught his wife close so he could kiss her softly.

“I love you,” he murmured, watching her eyes in that quiet, focused way of his. “I loved you the first time there were eight planets, and when there were nine, and I guess I’ll love you just the same whether they end up deciding there are eight or thirteen or nine hundred of the damn things out there.” 

There wasn’t really anything Steph thought needed saying on top of that, so she answered with another kiss, not quite as gentle as the first.

“Tell you what,” she decided breathlessly. “When we have kids we’ll teach them all the ones you want to talk about, okay, just because they’re interesting. It can be Uncle Tony’s job to tell them whether they’re dwarves or giants or normal-sized or whatever else they’ve come up with by then.”

“Deal,” Bucky breathed against her neck. Steph hadn’t meant that they had to get started on that next project right that second, but it wasn’t like she minded.

“Deal,” she echoed, already tugging at his shirt.


	4. on the benefits of reading ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Tasha feels the need to intercede

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter for kesselrunners, if you read it, in the spirit of finding something to take your mind off the HEAVY HEAVY things that are happening elsewhere in the MCU & associated fandom <3

Tony was minding his own business in his lab, ankle-deep in spare parts and as close to relaxed as he ever got, when a knife he had balanced himself, just like his father had taught him, buried itself in the table three inches above his neck. Tony sighed.

“JARVIS, save programme. We’ll get back to this unless Mother Russia has other plans for me.”

Natasha, already sitting on the desk across from Tony with her legs demurely crossed, examined her nails as if to say she wasn’t ready to commit either way. Tony glared much more fearlessly than he would have if she’d been making eye contact.

“You know that if everyone who had a bone to pick with me took it out on my furniture we’d have to live in a bunker, right?”

“You got them tickets to _Hamilton_.”

Tony blinked.

“I asked you guys _months_ ago whether anyone wanted to go.”

Natasha tossed her head impatiently.

“I’m not jealous, Stark. What were you thinking, sending them to _that_ show?”

She was staring him down now, willing him to pick up the thread, but Tony had less than no idea what she expected him to say.

“I was thinking that she likes musicals, he likes history, and literally every person who cares about theatre seems to have lost their mind about _that_ show.”

Tasha breathed out slowly through her nose.

“Do you know anything at all about Alexander Hamilton?”

Tony shrugged- he’d never really gone in for history outside the context of the Second World War.

“He’s a founding father? Ish. Set up Wall Street, or something, right? Why don’t you ask the people who actually saw the show about his life?”

“I did,” the Widow hissed. “James tried to tell me. He got halfway through Act Two before his wife was crying so hard that he had to stop and promise he'd never get killed in a duel and leave her to worry about his legacy for 50 years.”

“Oh.”

That part Tony hadn’t known about- and now that he did he still wasn't sure he knew why Steph had taken it so personally. "He's nothing like Cap. Alexander Hamilton was in charge of the Treasury."

Natasha looked impatient again. 

"Alexander Hamilton was a nobody kid from nowhere who had trouble with his father, came up from nothing by joining the army, and apparently thought New York was the centre of the universe."

"Oh no." 

"Oh yes. He also had an affair that almost ruined his political career and his marriage, but his wife forgave him after their young son was killed in a duel.”

Tony slapped his palm to his forehead. Natasha looked vaguely approving. "Plus he may have been more in love with his sister-in-law than his wife.”

She uncrossed her legs and stood in a single, alarmingly graceful movement. “Read a bloody synopsis next time, all right?”

“I’ll make it up to them,” Tony promised, already running through the list of fail-safe shows he could get tickets for at short notice. "Maybe not  _Memphis._ _Les Mis,_ you think, maybe? Or _Phantom_ 's good the next time they're in London, and if she wants to see him in all the soldiers at least they end up together in  _Wicked_ , right?"

He tried not to wonder when exactly he'd become some kind of walking brochure for every tourist trap in New York and London. Natasha stopped just as JARVIS opened the door to speed her on her way.

“ _Phantom_ is about childhood sweethearts being tormented by a murderer who literally wears a mask featuring a red skull, and in the travesty they call a sequel that man turns out to have been the hero all along. And the soldier in _Wicked_ gets attacked by a mob and turned into a scarecrow before they end up together.”

“Fine,” Tony muttered as the door hissed shut behind her. Apparently they all knew their musical blockbusters pretty well now. “Great.  _Jersey Boys_ it is. Again. JARVIS-“

“Already booked, sir.”

“Thanks. Can I have my- yes, perfect. Keep that door locked for now, will you?”

"Yes, sir.”

A few days later, Tony was watching Clint and Natasha bicker about take-out when all three of their phones buzzed.

“Barnses!”

Clint beamed with all the pride of the first man to explain group chat in a way that the 40s kids had actually understood. He read the message out loud, sounding as much like a proud parent as a trick-shooter dating a woman who called herself the Black Widow could.

“Jersey Boys still the best. Back to BK tonight; bagels tomorrow A.M. Requests?”

Natasha laughed, not even very mockingly.

“James uses more punctuation in his text messages than you do in your emails.”

Clint ignored her, too busy typing two-handed. His brow was creased in concentration- or concern. Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“Are you checking up on them already?”

Clint nodded seriously.  

“’Brooklyn tonight, back tomorrow’ is either very good or very bad, right? I’m asking which.”

“Me too,” Tony admitted. This time, his phone chimed before Clint’s.

“Cap says ‘music still great; skirts still too short.’ How is that helpful? I just want to know whether you’re angsting, Barnes! Unless he’s angsting about the loss of modesty in women’s fashion.”

Clint glanced at his phone as its screen lit up; a second later, he burst out laughing.

“I think he’s doing fine,” he grinned. “Steph says ‘Poor Frankie, why’d he only adore her with his eyes? These Jersey punks have nothing on my Brooklyn boy.’ And then three of the winking emoji.”

He grimaced. “I didn’t teach her _that_.”

Tony shuddered, trying very hard not to think about Steph straddling her husband just inches away from where Natasha was standing. From the way Clint had suddenly averted his eyes, he gathered that he wasn’t the only one trying hard to pretend he’d forgotten _you’re just perfect, doll._

“Well,” the Widow murmured, still scrolling through the menu JARVIS had pulled up for her. “She _is_ an artist- of course she’d take an interest in that mode of expression.”

Tony saw Clint’s eyes widen and then narrow to slits, but of course even Barton knew better than to accuse Natasha Romanova of anything she wasn’t ready to admit to.

“Right,” Clint nodded, rolling his eyes at Tony behind his girlfriend’s back. “Of course. That makes sense.”

“Yes,” Natasha agreed, eyes still on the screen in front of her. “It does. You both know this surface is reflective, right?”


	5. on proper inversions

“Hang on,” Steph muttered suddenly, cutting Sharon off mid-word. She got to her feet, frowning slightly. “Sorry, I just have to-“

She was already most of the way out of the kitchen, drawn towards the faintest hint of agitation in her husband’s barely-raised voice. Sharon followed, less out of interest than because she wasn’t really the kind of girl who stood around in the kitchen with nothing to do but wait for an abandoned conversation to resume.

“They can’t  _all_ be evil,” Bucky was objecting when she got there, looking away as if to protect Uhura’s modesty. “I’m just saying, what about the bad guys?”

“They  _are_ the bad guys,” Clint explained tolerantly, gesturing at the ugly scar marring George Takei’s face to illustrate his point. “That’s how you know it’s the mirror universe.”

“These guys are,” Cap nodded impatiently. “I get that, but those other guys should be good, then, right? Like the, you know-”

“Alien teenager,” his wife offered, grinning as she glanced between the screen and her husband’s carefully averted eyes. She leaned in close to kiss him, quickly but firmly, before dropping to the floor by his feet. “That Loki guy with the pistols, remember?”

Bucky nodded; Tony grinned with him.

“That’s the most efficient description of a Q I’ve ever heard,” he decided. “You know there are, like, seven empty seats, right?”

Steph tossed her head dismissively, settling comfortably with her back against the sofa and her cheek against her husband’s knee. Cap was already running his fingers through her hair. Clint frowned at both of them, and then at Tony.

“You guys really think he’s a Q?”

“Of course he’s a Q,” Dr. Banner murmured, looking up from the crossword he seemed pretty close to solving. “What else would he be?”

Sharon raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin which might have come out more mocking than she meant to be.

“Just how many Trekkies are there on this team?”

“Trekkers,” Bruce and Clint snapped simultaneously. Sharon groaned.

“Oh no, you guys are _that_ kind of Trekkie.”

Tony grinned.

“You bet your a-“

His eyes flicked towards Steph and her husband. “-rrows. You bet your _arrows_ we’re that kind of Trekk _er_.”

Steph headbutted Bucky’s knee gently by way of demanding his attention.

“These guys know we were in the army, right? I’m not gonna cry or pass out if someone says ‘ass’ or ‘fuck’ or whatever.”

Her husband laughed out loud, letting his hand dip lower so he was caressing her cheek instead of her hair.

“Easy,” he murmured, jerking his head to indicate their teammates’ scandalized expressions; Clint in particular looked like he might pass out. “These guys aren’t army-trained at all.”

His wife turned so she could kiss his palm.

“Sorry,” she muttered, sounding anything but. “So are we watching this thing, or what?”

Tony gave a strangled kind of nod. Sharon had had no intention of staying on, but she found herself drawn in as much by the episode itself as by the tension in Stark’s living room- she would never have guessed that a TV show from the 60s could so transfix a group of grown adults with _personal experience_ of fighting real, live aliens.

“See,” Clint said brightly as the credits rolled. “So that’s the mirror universe, and that’s what Tasha meant that time about Stark’s beard.”

“It’s not that evil-looking,” Steph protested, studying Tony’s facial hair earnestly. “And he’d look like a teenager without it.”

“Or like his dad,” Cap suggested. “If he kept the mustache, at least.”

“Golly gee,” Tony sing-songed, rolling his eyes. “You 40s kids really know how to make a guy feel good about himself.”

“Neither one of us has ever once said ‘golly gee,” Bucky informed him dryly, but changed the subject obligingly. “You know what I mean, though, right? If it's a proper reflection- if, say, Red Skull’s a freedom fighter for whatever reason?- then my Steph’s gotta be head of HYDRA or something, they can't just be working on the same team.”

No one said anything for a moment- Tony in particular seemed to be struggling with every component part of that suggestion. Steph scowled at her husband, but not for the reason Sharon would have guessed.

“Where the hell are you supposed to be, if _I’m_ head of HYDRA?”

“Captain’s Kept Man,” Sharon blurted out before she’d really thought the comment through. For a second she wondered if it had been a mistake- Steph looked quite taken aback, and Tony was already shaking his head urgently- but then Bucky slid off the sofa so he could tug his wife closer and kiss her cheek.

“I could do that,” he murmured. Steph grinned.

“You gonna say you’d make it _real good for me_ , soldier?”

“No,” Tony all but shouted before Bucky had a chance to respond. “He’s definitely not going to say that, and if I’m wrong I _never_ want to know about it.”

Cap looked faintly affronted.

“I didn’t say one word, Stark.”

“Good,” Tony shot back. “Well done. Keep that right up, Cap. JARVIS! Next episode, stat.”

Bucky leaned back against the sofa with a grouchy kind of huff. Steph chuckled quietly as she snuggled closer.

“’s okay,” she whispered, low and teasing- but the suddenly-loud theme music that followed Shatner’s opening monologue prevented anyone but her husband from hearing whatever followed. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon saw Tony raise his eyes to the ceiling, the way only Steph did when addressing JARVIS, and mouth a fervent ‘thank you.'


	6. on poor first impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sam can't quite work out what went wrong

“You could be _a little_ jealous,” Stephanie pouted. Clint watched in enthralled silence as she glared, first at Bucky for his lack of jealousy and then at Sam for putting them into a situation that called for it in the first place. Her husband, however, was much more amused than upset.

“I really could not. Worried, maybe.”

He kissed his wife’s forehead as if to quell her gathering frown. “For him, I mean- I thought you were gonna throw a plate at him, no joke.”

“I should’ve, as well.”

Steph scowled fiercely even as she relaxed into Cap’s lounging embrace. “He called me _baby._ What kind of man does that?”

“Lots of people,” Sam muttered, more despondent than sullen. “Plenty of people call each other ‘baby’ every day.”

“Don’t look at me,” Clint protested when he realized the others were waiting for him to comment. “I’m not _that_ brave.”

“Yet,” Steph murmured, cryptically optimistic in the way she often seemed to be on the subject of Clint and Tasha. “I’m not _his_ baby, anyway- my husband was right there with me!”

She tipped her head back to glare at Bucky instead of Sam.

“Not that I’m _your_ baby either. Yuck, I think that’s worse than doll.”

Her frown deepened as she thought it over. “Is it? At least a baby’s alive, I guess.”

Cap’s grin only widened.

“You tell me, baby-doll.”

Steph turned in his arms to smack him, but ruined the rebuke entirely by leaning up to kiss him even as she told him off.

“Shut up. Thank _God_ my da got that job in Brooklyn first- Hell’s Kitchen, was there ever a place better named?”

A crystalline laugh announced Natasha’s arrival. Clint wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so openly fond of anything that hadn’t come with at least six concealed blades attached.

“You do know Matt doesn’t represent the neighbourhood, right?”

“ _I_ know that,” Stephanie groused. “Has anyone told _him_ that?”

Without so much as taking a breath, she turned her indignation on her husband, who still wasn’t quite managing to keep his mirth contained.

“What the hell was in that coffee? You look like our Hannah when Bobby Mayer used to come ‘round.”

Bucky laughed out loud, tugging Steph closer so he could kiss her cheek.

“You’re so pretty when you’re beside yourself. I’m fine, Steph, okay?”

“You’re a jerk. C’mere, I gotta get that creep out of my head.”

“Cap’s gonna get lucky,” Clint sing-songed automatically, then made a face as the logic of it caught up with him. “Because Steph doesn’t like Daredevil. That’s kinda weird, you guys.”

“I’ll give you weird,” Cap conceded, not quite sighing as Steph urged him to his feet. “But I don’t know that standing still for an hour while this girl worries about light and shade is all that lucky.”

“You were a sharpshooter,” Steph pointed out, entangling their hands so he couldn’t get away. “Your whole life before you started whacking things with that shield was standing still for hours while I worried.”

“There was a war on,” Cap pointed out in a reasonable voice. Steph shrugged.

“At least there aren’t any Nazis on their way today, then, right?”

Her husband was smirking again.

“That’s a real low bar you’re setting there, Steph.”

Sam sniggered outright.

“You have a problem,” he told Clint cheerfully, then offered the other two a sympathetic kind of smile as he stood up too. “I’m sorry about him. And about Murdock.”

“They’re neither’a them your fault,” Cap assured him. “I’m pretty sure we had more fun than they did, anyway.”

“ _You_ had fun,” Steph grumbled, waving at Clint and Tasha with her free hand before beginning the work of towing Bucky into whatever patch of sunlight she deemed most suitable for sketching in. “He was _this_ close to- jeez, I’d ask whether we’re sure that creep is blind at all except I don’t think anyone who wasn’t would agree to wear that godawful costume.”

“He’s a good guy,” Sam insisted, making a last valiant attempt to defend his friend.

“Who can’t spell his own name. Murdock with a K, who does _that_?”

“I don’t think he picked the spelling, Stephanín.”

The last Clint heard of their receding argument was Steph’s derisive snort, followed by a quick burst of her husband’s affectionate laughter.

“I love them,” he announced. Tasha sighed, rinsing a mug with the same air she brought to sharpening her blades before a fight.

“You definitely have a problem,” she muttered. “For some reason it always surprises me that they’re not more politically correct.”

“They’re from way before that was a thing.”

“I realise that, but-“

She huffed, impatient with herself. “You know what I’m saying.”

“Yeah. Poor Wilson, though- he must’ve thought he had it all figured out with the whole working class church-going social justice thing.”

It still sounded good to Clint, really, but Tasha just shrugged.

“Matt has a way of coming across better on paper.”

She was smiling again, just faintly. Clint felt his own eyes narrow.

“You knew that was going to happen,” he realized. “You know that idiot  _way_ better than Sam Wilson does.”

She stiffened, suddenly bowstring tense- Clint realized too late how that could have seemed like an accusation.

“Nat, I-“

“I know.”

Her fingers came up to cover his, just for a moment, on the table between them- and then the tension broke, and Tasha smiled again.

“I wouldn’t say I knew, exactly.”

“But, what- you hoped?”

“I hoped.”

Her grin sharpened at the edges. “I’d have put money on James throwing him through a window before Stephanie resorted to throwing punches, but I suppose you have to appreciate a man who gives his wife space to handle things herself.”

Clint beamed.

“I _knew_ he was your favourite.”

She never even tried to deny it, but put the last of the dishes away and then turned to watch Clint expectantly until he fell into step beside her. “Maybe we should have dinner in Hell’s Kitchen for your birthday.”

Tasha paused- in anyone else, Clint would have gone as far to say they’d stumbled in surprise.

“Are you offering to throw Matt Murdock through a window for me, Barton?”

He’d do much more than that, he thought, if only it would erase the faintly wistful note that always seemed to haunt that name on her lips.

“I was thinking you could do it yourself, but if you just want to sit back and enjoy the show I’m willing to take direction.”

He watched Natasha consider her options carefully.

“If you’re good to me I’ll let you help, how about that?”

“I’m always good to you,” Clint reminded her. He caught a shadow of something fragile in her eyes, just for a second, but kept his voice breezy and his smile light. “You wanna bet Steph will be game to join us?”

Natasha- Tasha Romanova, the Black Widow- kissed him, right there in the hallway where anyone (and JARVIS) could walk in on them. Not for the first time- and not for the last- Clint offered the combined memory of Howard Stark and Abraham Erskine a huge, grateful mental high-five for all their work on Project Rebirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still kind of getting back into the swing of things character-wise  
> lest anyone think I'm being passive-aggressive about the TV show: the Daredevil I'm thinking of is the first version I ever read, showing up in comics from the 70s and 80s. He was always interesting to me because he had a charming side for sure but he also treated Tasha really, really badly in a way that has never quite made sense to me given it's _Natasha Romanova_ and no one should ever treat her any way except with caution and respect.


	7. on pop culture costumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's annual Halloween party; this year, the theme is basically things from the 30s and 40s which are still somehow being remade in the 2010s. Everyone is pretty sure Steph will want to be Dorothy. She does not.

“I was _so sure_ you’d come as Robin Hood again,” Tony complained, setting down his pipe to hand Bruce a twenty with one hand as he slid Clint a beer with the other. “This is way better, mind you, but being wrong is against my principles on many, many levels so I still resent it.”

“Duly noted,” Clint grinned, sipping his drink daintily in an effort to work around his fangs. “Sorry- Tasha called dibs on my crossbow before I had a chance to Flynn up that outfit properly. So- Dr. Frankenstein and his monster, huh?”

The monster grinned broadly; the man who was evidently not supposed to be his creator spluttered in wordless outrage.

“I’m _Sherlock Holmes_ ,” Tony growled, snatching up his pipe again to wave it in Clint’s face. “Have _you_ ever seen a version of Frankenstein who smokes?”

“We’ve also never seen a Sherlock Holmes who wears dark glasses,” Tasha offered, setting Clint’s bow down on the bar with a decisive thump. “I’d have guessed the invisible man, myself.”  

“He doesn’t _only_ wear the damn deerstalker," Tony protested hotly. "And who are _you_ supposed to be, She-Link? The Legend of Zelda was _not_ a thing in the 1930s, they only kind of had animation at all, never mind video games.”

Clint looked disbelieving.

“How have _you_ not seen The Hobbit?”

“Oh, what?”

Tony scowled. “You can’t tell a detective from a necromancer but you let her use your best cosplay bow for the romance-subplot elf?”

Clint shrugged.

“You said the updates count too.”

That had been the point, in a way- Tony’s costume guidelines had simply stated that the franchise had to have existed before 1940, and should still be in circulation in the 2010s. Sherlock was an obvious choice, Clint reflected- he’d just never seen it done with quite so much velvet and satin.

“Oh no,” Tony breathed, transfixed by something over Clint’s shoulder. Bruce hadn’t said anything, but he too had frozen with his eyebrows at least an inch higher than they had been a moment earlier. Tasha, turning, whistled through her teeth.

“Oh, yes.”

Clint whirled to find that his team weren’t the only ones staring- half the room seemed to have come to a standstill as the couple that had just arrived executed a picture-perfect little twirl. Stephanie, smirking already, tapped her husband’s shoulder gently with the oversized mallet she was clutching. Cap shrugged minutely- then offered the room the kind of grin Clint had only ever associated with Loki.  

“Relax, you guys- why so serious?”

Stephanie clapped delightedly, beaming at her husband as he actually, honestly, threw his head back to laugh just like Mark Hamill in Arkham Asylum.

Tony sank silently down on the stool which had been behind him.

“They’ll probably come as Dorothy and her scarecrow, you said.”

He swiveled in his seat, redirecting his accusing look from Bruce to Tasha. “Or Fred and Ginger, _you_ said.”

Tasha shrugged.

“My mistake. I definitely prefer this.”

She waved enthusiastically when Stephanie wound her way through the crowd to join them.

“Tasha,” Clint hissed. “What are you-“

The giant mallet joined his bow on the bar which was rapidly becoming a prop table.

“He learnt that laugh playing _Mozart_ ,” Steph announced, leaning back against it so she could watch her green-haired husband exchange a parting handshake with Wolverine. Logan, of course, had come as himself- for once, Clint thought, they could kind of make a case for that actually counting as a costume that fit the dress code. “That kid from the space opera, I mean, not my one.”

“Very impressive,” Tasha agreed with a grin. “He must not have wanted to get typecast.”

Stephanie nodded earnestly, setting the bells on her jester’s hat a-tinkling. Tony still looked like he’d been forced to drink a jar of pickle juice spiked with rubbing alcohol.

“Can you not refer to him as ‘your one’ when he’s dressed as _the Joker_?”

Suddenly, the red and black domino’s outfit seemed like the least wicked part of Steph’s get-up.

“He is, though, isn’t he?”

She reached out a hand to snag his near one as Bucky approached. Their hands tangled, his lavender glove suddenly brighter against her black one as Steph’s voice turned suddenly possessive. In anyone else, Clint would have called that tone a sultry one. “My own Mister J, no matter what you wear.”

Of course he kissed her, giving no sign at all that it bothered him one bit to be wearing at least as much makeup as his wife. She must have been the one to put it on, Clint realized, and to do his hair- he glanced uneasily in Tony’s direction, and felt much better when he saw that Stark, too, was obviously thinking of the now infamous incident with the haircut in the kitchen.

“You tell’em, sugar.”

Cap offered the others another bright, totally unsettling grin. “What’s the matter, bat got your tongue?”

Steph kissed his pale, pale neck as Clint, too, collapsed into the nearest chair.

“You two are way too into this,” he complained. Stephanie snatched up her mallet to bop him gently on the head.

“Or you're not into it enough, maybe. Go suck some blood or something, honestly.”

She tucked her arm securely into her husband’s, not at all bothered by the eye-popping clash of red with green and purple. “Now. You gonna dance with me or what?”

This time, his smile was for her eyes only.

“Whatever you want, little darlin’.”

He let her drag him off, still smiling much too softly for the Joker. Clint made a solid effort to pick his jaw up off the floor.

“I’m not the only one who found that terrifying, am I?”

“I thought they looked excellent,” Bruce declared mildly. He topped up Tony’s whisky, which was just as well- Stark looked like he needed at least another double. Tasha looked thoroughly approving.

“Flawless,” she agreed, then patted Clint’s arm in a patronizing yet comforting kind of way. “Think of it this way: at least they didn’t go with the version they’re putting forward for that new film.”

Clint raised an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t think Cap could pull of face tattoos and metal teeth?”

“I’m sure he could.”

Tasha poured herself a second shot of vodka, then reached across to pour Clint one as well. “I’m just saying, at least one of you two would have a heart attack on the spot if Stephanie ever turned up in either hot-pants or fishnets, never mind both in the same outfit.”

There was a strained, possibly even pained silence at the bar. Across the room, several X-Men clapped as Bucky dipped his wife extravagantly, apparently just because he could. Tony glared.

“You’re a sick and twisted woman, Tasha Romanova.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what I mean is happy halloween! teeheehee


	8. on yardsticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is really just Clint and Tasha, but it's entirely because of S&J so I figured it counts.

Clint paused, helical fletching still gripped in the clamp he was holding, to watch Natasha sprawl across his bed as clumsily as she ever did anything. It wasn’t that he minded, at all- he’d spent way more of their relationship than really made sense trying to convince her that nothing terrible would happen if they occasionally spent a whole hour together without shooting anyone or having sex- but it was a rare, rare thing for Nat to seek him out so casually.

“Hey,” he ventured casually. Natasha nodded briskly, but didn’t speak. After a moment, Clint went back to work on the assumption that she’d let him know if he was actually supposed to get involved in whatever she had decided they were doing. He got two more arrows fletched and was securing a third in the jig Tony had built for him when Natasha turned her head to stare at the ceiling instead of watching him work.

“Apparently she has a song for him.”

Nat had gone in search of Stark to get one of her knives adjusted and found him- as one usually did when the Avengers were on their own time- knee-deep in spare parts. Cap was hard at work with him, his wife working quietly at the desk Tony and Bruce had cleared for her over the weeks and months during which it had become clear that the couple Barnes came as a pair even when only one of them actually wanted to participate in whatever activity was ongoing. And then the music had changed, Natasha reported in the tone Clint would have used to say his opposing number had lined up his shot- and Stephanie had jumped to her feet, grinning wildly, and crossed the room to fling her arms around her husband. Even Tony had had no idea what was going on until Steph had announced that it was “their song,” or at least one of them, and Cap had laughed the bashful, totally besotted laugh only his wife inspired and whirled her obligingly around in time to the music. Bruce had known all the words, Natasha added like that detail only made the rest of it worse. Clint bit his lip, mostly because it would only annoy her if he asked- but Nat just rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know what it was called. The chorus was very repetitive- mostly he was very impressed by the lady’s eyes.”

Jeepers Creepers, Clint decided; he offered Nat an apologetic kind of grin.

“I’m at least forty percent sure that song is about a horse.”

She raised herself up on her elbows to stare at him.

“Why on Earth do you know that?”

Clint shrugged noncommittally- he’d looked it up at some point, probably around the time _Beetlejuice_ had come out.

“Something I read said it’s from a movie from the- 20s or 30s, I guess? Some jockey or horse doctor or something sings it to his horse.”

“Horse doctor.”

 Clint thought she sounded at least a little bit impressed, though. “Sometimes it slips my mind that you’re such a geek.”

This, at least, was familiar territory.

“You only think that because you’re such a jock.”

She didn’t smirk like he’d expected, though, but looked almost self-conscious. It wasn’t a look Clint had much experience with on Natasha Romanova’s face.

“It’s more obvious here than when we had the STRIKE team to contend with.”

Clint grinned, not least to hide his growing unease. They were hovering on the edge of something major, he knew- but he didn’t have the first clue what it was.  

“I did tell you we were the-“

“Sensible middle ground, I remember. Is that enough?”

He hadn’t been thinking of it like some kind of ladder they should be climbing.

“What?”

She tossed her hair- defensively, he thought- and finally gave voice to everything that had been on her mind.  

“You know what they’re like. I can’t- I _don’t want_ to spend four hours just touching your hair.”

“They were reading,” Clint pointed out, mostly to buy himself enough time to shake the bizarre mental image of _anyone_ snuggling up to Tasha the way Cap did with Steph all the time. “He was, I mean, but to her."

She’d only mentioned in passing that they'd liked _The Hobbit_ when it was new, but of course Tony had produced the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy within 20 minutes of that conversation and then set a deadline for how long he could restrain himself before the whole team  _had_ to watch the films whether they were done with the books or not.

"I don't think they could've got through it that quick if they'd gone one by one."

“I don’t need you to read to me,” Natasha snapped. “If I want to read a bloody novel I’ll do it myself, all right?”

“Sure.”

Clint set his tools aside to perch next to Natasha on the bed. “Go right ahead, Nat."

She nodded as if she’d needed that fairly pointless affirmation, but looked away instead of at Clint.

“I’m not looking for that. I don’t want to be more myself with someone than alone, or to spend every minute we’re apart wishing that we weren’t. I don’t wish you spoke Russian so we could whisper secrets like they do, and if you had to touch me every time we were three feet apart I think I’d have cut your fingers off by now.”

Clint was nodding rapidly, agreeing with her assessment as well as demonstrating that he was paying close attention. “I’ve _been_ part of something that meant more to me than my own life, all right, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“I know.”

Clint was almost sure that being so in love with your wife that you didn’t know how to be embarrassed about it wasn’t _exactly_ like being a teenaged member of the KGB, but if there was ever a time to voice that kind of thought it wasn’t while Tasha was staring straight ahead as she poured out the declaration that must have been building for weeks at least.

“I tried, you know. With Matt- I thought I could be what he wanted.”

The loathing in her voice was for Murdock as much as for herself- only half of which made Clint’s fingers twitch towards the bow he hadn’t restrung yet. She gave a low chuckle that was bitter even by the Black Widow’s standards. “You’d think I’ve had enough practice, I know.”

Clint took one of his girlfriend’s hands in his.

“That wasn’t what I was thinking at all. It’s not the same thing, Nat.”

“No.”

She faced him then, her lips quirking in a tired smile. “If they were having this conversation he’d have kissed her at least four times by now.”

“If I kissed you while you were thinking about the Douche-devil you’d stab me in the gut and not even know yourself whether you were sorry or not.”

Her eyes gleamed with amusement, just for a moment, but Natasha’s face and voice were grave.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“I know what you’re saying,” Clint admitted readily. “The part I’m having trouble with is why you’re saying it.”

Natasha smiled for real then, and it was so close to tender that Clint realized abruptly that there was a very real possibility that she was trying to break up with him.

“Tasha-”

“You love them.”

That- wasn’t where he’d thought that was going.

“You love them too. Everyone loves them- _Loki_ loves them, or at least Cap, right, and no one thinks that means he wants to read Tolkien or go to daily Mass.”

Her fingers brushed his arm.

“You could have a marriage like that if you wanted it, you know.”

And there it was.

“But not with you, you’re saying.”

That she had to look away was the only thing keeping him from panicking.

“But not with me.”

Clint closed his eyes, counted to five, and then shook his head like he was deeply disappointed.

“First of all, Tasha Romanova, if we were going to _be_ them I’d be Steph, okay? There’s no way _you’re_ the cheerful, forgiving one.”

She opened her mouth, but- maybe for the first time in their relationship- Clint talked right over her attempt to interrupt. “And second of all, I don’t know why we’d want to be them in the first place.”

She didn’t look like she believed him.

“They’re just kids. Do you know what I was like when I was 27?”

She probably did, at least from his file- but the point was that Clint wouldn’t have wished that version of himself on anyone, let alone someone he was pretty damn sure he loved.

“She’s never slept with anyone else,” Natasha countered, her voice just low enough for Clint to realise she’d really thought about it. “Or even thought about it. She’s _twenty-seven_ , and he’s the only man who’s even touched her.”  

This was dangerous ground, or it could be. Clint squeezed the hand he was still holding, mostly feeling grateful that she hadn’t pulled away, and tried to convey how much he’d never meant to hold _anyone_ to the standard Tony’s friends had set.

“40s Catholics, you know?”

He kept his voice light and teasing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, okay, but I’ve known most of this since way before you let me talk you into any of this.”

He hoped he never had to get used to the vulnerability in her eyes- but then Natasha smiled the Widow’s sharp-edged smile.

“I don’t remember much _talking_ that night.”

Clint grinned, conceding that point without argument, but he wasn’t quite done.

“Listen, if I made you think-”

“It’s not you,” she assured him. “I just wondered, I suppose.”

“Well. Wonder no more, okay?”

He leaned towards her, slowly enough to turn it into a stretch if she recoiled, and hugged her quickly when she didn’t. “I know who I’m with, Natasha.”

He could have given her much more, but with Nat it was often better to say too little than too much. Her eyes were quite soft by now. It meant more to Clint than he knew how to express that he was even allowed to see her like that sometimes- a year earlier, he was sure, she would have walked right out of their relationship rather than trying to put any of her worries into words.

“And that’s enough, is it?”

Clint rolled his eyes.

“Enough like Stark has enough money, or like Banner’s smart enough to judge a grade school science fair. Enough like Loki’s sneaky enough to make you check your pockets twice.”

She nodded, slowly.

“And it doesn’t bother you that I don’t- I won’t- want to be-”

“A 40s Catholic?”

It might be nice if she wanted some of those things some of the time, maybe- but there was a lot Clint enjoyed about being Hawkeye-and-Widow that could never, ever happen if either of them were even a little more like Barnes and Barnes. “I hate to tell you this _now_ , okay, but I’m not a 40s Catholic either.”  

There was another long silence while Nat just stared at him, silent and assessing like only the Black Widow could be. She nodded once, obviously to herself, and squeezed his shoulder before standing in a single, absurdly fluid movement.

“Target practice,” she offered by way of explaining where she thought she was going. “Thanks, Barton.”

She was gone without so much as a backwards glance- but they both knew she’d be back, and Clint had long since decided that that was what counted between them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just because, you know?  
> also because real life is about to snatch me away so I think I might not get to write for a while and wanted one last fix before I have to disappear D:


	9. on code names and team dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> early in the formation of this team: Tony takes his people out to lunch.

“I can’t believe you guys made me wait three days for shwarma,” Tony groused. He licked a stray trail of garlic sauce off his wrist with sullen sobriety. “I was going to die to save New York, you know- you’d think I could at least pick dinner on the same day.”

“That was nine months ago,” Bruce pointed out, not even unreasonably. “And you didn’t die to save New York, on top of which if you _had_ died to save New York we couldn’t have fed you shwarma at any point so you’re much better off than you seem to think.”

“For which we’re very glad,” Stephanie Barnes offered, just a shade too earnestly for anyone to think of making fun of her.

“Amen,” her husband agreed; Clint raised his pita pocket in Stark’s direction in a loyal, if greasy, toast. Natasha didn’t bother to agree with any of them, but the fact that she hadn’t scorned the outing entirely was its own expression of affection. Tony, feeling much appeased, helped himself to more lamb.

“So,” he said brightly, resuming a conversation they’d started weeks ago. “Decision re: team structure- me; Barneses, Bruce; Hawkeye and the Black Widow; the Falcon and Agent 13, Thor and maybe sometimes but not really but _maybe_ Loki.”

“Maybe not,” Stephanie muttered, stabbing an unfortunate falafel with much more than necessary force. Her husband kissed her cheek, grinning like a little kid when she made a show of trying to get out of his way, but didn’t say anything out loud either way.

“Right,” Tony supplied, trying to stay on track for once. “Actionables for- ugh, I _hate_ that word. Why do I sound like a CEO?”

“You are a CEO,” Clint reminded him. Stephanie turned to catch Thor’s eye on Bucky’s other side.

“That means he’s the big boss.”

The Son of Odin nodded solemnly, but thankfully lacked the vocabulary to wonder aloud whether that made him Asgard’s CMO or COO.

“Okay, forget that. Things we’re doing today which are not actionables but on which we might eventually take action: code names!”

Tony grinned at his father’s friends. “By which I mean _your_ code names, since everyone else already has one. Unless you guys want new ones, I mean- I guess now’s as good a time as any to make the change if you do.”

As the others shook their heads, the Captain and Mrs. Barnes exchanged a dubious glance.

“What do we need code names for?”

“For fun!”

Clint was grinning already. “Can we give you matching handles? Justice and Mercy? Duty and Sacrifice?”

“Romeo and Juliet,” Stephanie cut in dryly. “Tristan and Isolde. Lancelot and Guinevere.”

“Bonnie and Clyde,” her husband offered with a grin. Stephanie smacked his arm, glaring, as Natasha leaned forward eagerly.

“I like that. Action couple, very vintage. I would have thought they were a bit dark-side for you two, though.”

Clint nodded vigorously.

“Way too dark-side. And all these people died much too young- we need to try harder, people.”

Sharon looked a little like she was trying to put off a developing migraine.

“I thought you already had code names. Aren’t you Captain Ameri-

“No,” the couple said together, effectively ending that train of thought.

“Valkyr and Einher,” Thor ventured quietly- then shook his head apologetically. “Though perhaps the Lady will not wish to name your Captain for one already dead.”

Bucky laughed, tugging his wife closer as much to reassure her as to make sure she didn’t sprain her wrist hitting Thor on principle.

“We should probably avoid that stuff anyway- with your pals around people might think we actually meant that.”

He was, of course, already back to smiling sweetly at his wife. “The Irish ones would be good for you, maybe. Macha or Morrigan- I like that. Great Queen Stephanín.”

Stephanie shook her head fiercely.

" _It is at the guarding of thy death that I am; and I shall be?_ You gotta stop dying in these things or no deal.”

“Hey, _you_ picked Romeo and Juliet. An’ I didn’t say anything about being Cu Chuilainn, did I?”

Tony thought that was just as well- he could already see every paper in the country publishing a correction every second time someone tried to spell that.

“The Queen and Captain sounds like a pub,” he mused- then brightened considerably. “We should go to London! Are you guys free in May?”

Hawkeye looked round curiously.

“You’re in charge of the schedule, aren’t you? If you say we’re free we’re free unless some _more_ crazy aliens get delusions of grandeur. Or Viktor von Doom again, I guess. Or Magneto, or-”

Tony flipped him off genially.

“You two have an unrealistically solid grounding in medieval literature for working class kids from the 40s,” Sam Wilson observed, ignoring Clint and Tony altogether. Cap shrugged.

“Spent half our lives at the library when we were kids.”

He poked his wife in the side to get her attention. “Agent Carter here has a point- you could go back to Steve Rogers, since you loved those boots so much.”

Stephanie turned around to stare her husband down.

“I will hurt you, James Buchanan.”

“No, you won’t.”

Of course he caught her deftly when she lunged at him, taking her weight so naturally that it all looked much more flirtatious and intentional than Tony could ever have imagined.

“It would be a shame,” Stephanie murmured, tracing her husband’s jaw with one finger. “You have such nice lines, you know that?”

“Wouldn’t want to mess with my lines,” Cap agreed piously.

“Shut up,” Steph ordered, and made sure he did by kissing him quite hard.

“Yes,” Tasha announced without looking away from her food. “We do all ship it hardcore now, Barton.”

“This again,” Sharon groaned, but even she looked fond. “Am I the only one who feels really old every time they remember they’re allowed to act their age? 25, sheesh. I feel like that was decades ago.”

“That _was_ decades ago,” Tony moaned, back to self-pitying. “Well, one and a bit I guess.”

“Not for me,” Sam grinned- then seemed to realise quickly that it was in his best interests to change the subject. “Look, they’re the Captain and Mrs. Captain, okay? Why are we even pretending we’ll ever call them anything else?”

“It’s not that crazy,” Steph said helpfully, pulling away and turning in one graceful movement so she was perched demurely on her husband’s knee instead of straddling his lap. “Those are our actual names. Kind of.”

Her husband nodded agreeably.

“This has been productive,” Tony decided brightly. “So. All in favour of admitting the Captain and Mrs. Captain to- ah, who am I kidding, most of us have been in favour longer than you two have been out of the ice. Welcome to the Avengers.”

“They’re his Avengers,” Stephanie reminded everyone, almost sternly. “But thanks.”

“We could go back to SWORD,” Clint offered; Natasha sighed deeply.  

“You mean SROBB. Which would be SROBB…BB…CW…O now, assuming both Thor and Loki are in.”

“CROSBBBBOW,” Bucky realised after the briefest hesitation; Bruce had already raised his glass in admiration when the others caught on.

“This,” Clint announced in a hushed voice. “This is why I have been telling everyone for years that James Barnes is a national treasure and the best there is.”

“Aw,” Steph murmured, obviously touched. Tony looked up from the napkin on which he’d rearranged the letters by hand, just in case.

“Is this another thing that happens when you spend your whole childhood indoors or did the SSR make you guys work decryption on your downtime or what?”

He never actually got an answer, the others having already distracted each other with a bunch of different satellite conversations, but as Tony chased down another stray trail of sauce he couldn’t help but think that the Avengers were a much livelier- and therefore, at least in his book- better outfit already than the Champions had ever been.


	10. on turning 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2015, just Bucky standing on a roof thinking about how time works

Bucky was staring vacantly towards the park when his wife’s soft footsteps sounded on the stairs. He smiled, but didn’t speak or move until she’d crossed the deck to put her arms around him from behind.

“There you are. You okay?”

“Sure. Whatcha need, a Mháire?”

Her lips brushed the back of his neck, barely the suggestion of a kiss but plenty intimate considering they were in full view of Fifth Avenue.

“I came up here to ask you that.”

Of course she had. Bucky leaned back so his cheek brushed her hair.

“I’m good.”

Stephanie laughed softly.

“Ant’ny bet Clint something I don’t understand that you’d say ‘I’ve got everything I want right here, doll.’”

She gave another quiet giggle. “I tried to tell him you don’t call me ‘doll’ except when we’re shamming for idiots but they weren’t really listening.”

The balance of exasperation and affection in her tone was so familiar that for a moment all Bucky could see was Gary Richards, grinning wryly as they bore the brunt of Steph’s righteous indignation after one of their less successful ventures.

“C’mere, will you?”

She was smiling when he turned, unphased by the urgency in his voice, and came willingly when he pulled her close and hung on for a few seconds.  

“Twenty-seven, Stephanie girl.”

She squinted up at him inquiringly.

“You mean us?”

Bucky laughed, bending to kiss the furrow forming in her brow.

“Yeah, Steph.”

“Oh.”

She looked more confused rather than less. “Are you just noticing that now?”

It had been a month since her birthday, after all, and half a year since his. Bucky shrugged, not entirely sure himself what he was thinking.

“You liking it so far?”

Steph smiled tolerantly, still curious but happy to play along.

“So far.”

Bucky nodded like they were having a much more serious conversation.

“I’m glad.”

The hand she’d had at his neck slid up to tangle reassuringly in his hair- apparently Steph hadn’t missed the unexpected roughness in his voice either.

“Tell me.”

Bucky shook his head, suddenly- absurdly- shy.

“’s nothing. I’m just bein’ stupid.”

Stephanie leaned up to kiss him, Fifth Avenue be damned.

“Tell me anyway.”

The one thing Bucky kept meaning to learn and somehow never did was how to say no to his wife.  

“It’s just-”

He took a breath, glancing away so he was watching the trees rather than her worried eyes, and blurted out the rest of it in a single breath. “Twenty-seven’s so much more’n I ever thought we’d get, y’know?”

There was a moment’s silence, in which they stood there shoulder to shoulder, then Steph turned to draw him into another, fiercer embrace.

“A Shéamais,” she protested in a whisper. Bucky kissed her brow right where the crease was beginning to come back.

“D’you remember New Year’s of ‘41 at all?”

Steph’s frown grew as she thought about that.

“I remember your Gary putting you to bed,” she said slowly, smiling a little at the memory. “Lecturing you all the way, except you were so out of it you slept right through all his fussing.”

If she thought _he’d_ been out of it, Bucky thought ruefully, it was only because she couldn’t possibly remember how the rest of that night had gone.

“You were so sick.”

His voice shook; Steph’s arms tightened protectively around him, but she didn’t interrupt. “You were asking for your mam, even. A couple times I really thought- I mean-”

He cut himself off before his voice broke, taking a steadying breath with his cheek against her hair.

“Your Doc Michaels looked me right in the eye and said there was nothing left to do but pray.”

He’d never meant to tell her that- had actively meant never to tell her, even- but from the look on her face it wasn’t anything his wife hadn’t already worked out for herself anyway. Stephanie raised her hands again, framing Bucky’s face like she was trying to wall out everything that didn’t relate directly to the two of them.

“I’m still here,” she said quietly, seriously- just like he had said it to her on that train up in the Alps. Of course she understood- of _course_ she’d had to live with the same god-awful sense of hopeless, helpless dread he’d known nearly all his life.    

“I would have died,” Bucky muttered, closing his hands gently over her wrists. “If he’d hurt you like that I would’ve keeled over right there on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Even that mixed-up train of thought had hardly slowed Stephanie down. “You’d’ve killed him with your own two hands, Buck.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

“I said that to him about you. Almost word for word I said just that.”

“Clever boy. Even though you’re the one that wouldn’t let me do it.”

He kissed her forehead before that crease had a chance to come back.

“Aren’t you glad we had a frost giant on our side for the next bit?”

“Only ‘cos the other side hated him more,” Steph muttered, still resentful, but changed the subject before they had to replay a conversation they’d already had about a dozen times. “You wanna get out of here for a couple days?”

They did that with some regularity- they had some small traditions, from little anniversaries to particular Days of Obligation, which just seemed better spent at home, besides which Steph just missed Brooklyn if they stayed away too long. Bucky nodded readily.

“Sure, if you want.”

Steph frowned her that’s-not-what-I-asked frown.

“What do _you_ want, though?”

Bucky shrugged, a little at a loss.

“I don’t mind, as long as-”

She stopped him with a finger to his lips.

“Assume the only thing _I_ want that I don’t have already is to do this for you.”

His baffled expression made her giggle. Steph touched his cheek, sweetly reassuring. “It doesn’t have to be a forever kind of want, I mean something just for you, just for now.”

The look in her eyes said it really mattered, for some reason, so Bucky gave the matter due consideration.

“Just for me, just for now.”

“Right.”

She was blushing faintly, Bucky realised- probably imagining what Clint or Tony would have expected him to ask for. Bucky kissed his wife, more grateful than he knew how to articulate for every second they’d ever been allowed.

“I want an egg cream,” he decided. “A real one, from a soda fountain.”

Steph stared at him, apparently speechless with surprise.

“And a pretzel, maybe.”

She surged up to kiss him again.

“I love you.”

The words were barely intelligible through the laughter that accompanied them. “C’mon, let’s go get you an egg cream.”

“It’s the middle of the night, a Mháire.”

“Yeah, but it’s the middle of the night in New York City in 2015.”

Her eyes were shining with mischief; sometimes, Bucky thought, she really did look just like she had when they’d been sixteen. “You really think JARVIS can’t find _one_ soda joint that opens late?”

Bucky fell into step obediently when she tugged on his hand again.

“It’s gonna be five dollars or something crazy.”

Stephanie looped her free arm around his waist, keeping him close.

“We’ve got five dollars now, though. Ten, even.”

She was making a bigger point, Bucky knew, but he wasn’t sure he was quite up to talking about it any more than they already had. He turned his head to kiss his wife’s cheek.

“ _Two_ egg creams.”

She nodded, grinning already.

“And a pretzel, maybe.”

She dropped her voice to whisper conspiratorially. “C’mon, we have to get outta here on the quiet or they’ll all want to come with.”

Which would have been fun in its own way, of course, but definitely seemed like the kind of outing that could at the very least wait for daylight. Bucky nodded solemnly, miming zipping his lips and throwing away the key. His wife kissed him again, apparently as a reward for cooperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! getting back into the groove of their voices to see if I can't finish a couple of the things I've left hanging for way too long. if anyone is still reading any/ cares which one happens first I will be happy to take that into account!


	11. on incentives

“Is _that_ the time?”

Steph tipped her head back to address the AI who haunted Tony’s house. “JARVIS? Have those guys eaten anything since lunch?”

“It would seem not,” the mechanical voice murmured apologetically. Steph rolled her eyes.

“Fantastic. Would you please tell my stupid husband to get up here before he can’t? While you’re doing that you can tell Tony that if he’s going to take hostages with accelerated whatever-it-is-es the least he can do is feed them.”

“Right away, Stephanie.”

Pleased that he’d remembered that they were on first-name terms now, Steph grinned ceiling-wards before standing up to stretch. As she turned her head to crack her neck she found Natasha watching her curiously from the card table across the room. She and Sharon had already been there when Steph had come in, and seemed to be working their way through a series of quick and deadly trick-taking games Steph couldn’t follow closely enough to guess who was winning. 

“What would happen?”

“Just a headache, with any luck.”

Generally speaking it was the closest Bucky ever got to feeling hungover anymore, and would right itself before he got so miserable that Steph might feel bad for haranguing him about forgetting to eat in the first place. “If we wait _too_ too long he gets really sick, but that’s more like a couple days.”

Thank God they’d only ever had to deal with that once. Sharon raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t hypoglycemia kind of a liability in a GM soldier?”

“Not if the point is to keep him in line.”

Natasha’s voice was cool, but her eyes were apologetic as they met Steph’s briefly. “Which makes a kind of sense when you consider that the project started life in a Nazi lab.”  

“That does make sense,” Sharon decided after a moment, nodding agreeably as if she hadn’t just casually agreed that _of course_ some crazy German had made Doc Erskine add a failsafe he hadn’t lived long enough to warn anyone about so the army would be able to starve its super-soldiers into obedience without actually killing them. “And unless that’s an ace I’m pretty sure I win.”

Natasha swore quietly, snatching up the cards and shuffling them to deal again without so much as asking for a rematch. They were back at it in a minute, leaving Steph to stalk from the room with a scowl on her face that neither of them was paying enough attention to notice.

Rummaging for sliced meats in Tony’s oversized fridge helped her relax. There was too much of everything by half, all of it nearly too cold to eat right away, and there were cheeses and condiments in there that Steph couldn’t even begin to pronounce. Nothing at all about making sandwiches in the kitchen that had fed three generations of Stark geniuses felt even slightly like being in 1945, and for once Steph was entirely grateful for it. She was still layering a bunch of different meats together when Natasha’s soft rock playlist faded into silence, rendering the muted conversation in the other room suddenly clearly audible to Steph’s _GM_ hearing.

“I don’t know how she does it,” Sharon was saying, not very enthusiastically. “I can’t imagine having to plan my whole life around some guy like that.”

“He’s hardly some guy,” Natasha pointed out. “The way James tells it they’ve been together since they could talk.”

So much for Steph’s first, instinctive hope that she’d misunderstood- of course it was exactly what it sounded like. Bucky would have distracted her at that point, or just taken her by the hand and got out of earshot before Steph could overhear enough to really get mad- but Bucky wasn’t there, or Steph wouldn’t have been making sandwiches in the first place.

“As if you’d ever go in for that kind of thing, _Black Widow._ ”

“Just because I wouldn’t know how to begin to commit to someone that way doesn’t mean I can’t respect it. Not that it’s any of my business either way.”   

Steph felt her jaw unclench a little, comforted by the hint of acid in Natasha’s tone. She considered making her a sandwich too, just as a gesture, but thought better of it- even JARVIS hadn’t quite retained the complicated rules that governed the Widow’s relationship with store-bought bread.  

 “Don’t be like that,” Sharon protested, still unaware that Steph could hear every word she was saying. “I’m just saying-  she’s such a badass in the field, right, and then they get back here and it’s like she’s someone else entirely. All that ‘sweetheart, my honey’ stuff- I know she grew up in the ‘take care of your man or he’ll find someone who will’ era and all that, but- I don’t know. In anyone else I’d say the sex must just be that good but they’re so sickeningly vanilla that it can’t be-“

“Can’t be what, exactly?”

 Steph only realised she’d come all the way out into the hallway when Sharon whipped around.

"Steph!"

Guilt and panic warred for control of her expression. “I was just-”

“Just feeling sorry for me, right? Poor old-fashioned Steph, wasting her life on some dumb sap who can’t even sleep with her right, and if she doesn’t feed him five times a day he might not even do that much.”

She didn’t give them time to respond. “When we were six years old he held my hand for two hours straight so I wouldn’t lose it at my father’s funeral. When we were fourteen he broke all his mam’s rules to stay up with me when I was sick and didn’t say one word when she grounded him for weeks because of it. He’s half the reason I finished school with all the class I missed and the whole reason I’m here at all- he let a German scientist shoot him full of God alone knows what chemicals, okay, just because Stark said they’d fix my asthma if he did, so you’d really think I could make one god-damned sandwich without anyone throwing women’s lib at me.”  

Sharon looked mortified.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t- of course you should do whatever makes you happy.”

Somehow it just wasn’t the apology Steph was looking for.

“I don’t care whether you think I _should_ do anything.”

She unclenched her hands with an effort. “You can go ahead and think whatever the hell you want about us, all right, but if we’re really going to be teammates I need you to understand that my husband has never in his life had to _scare_ me into doing anything.”

“You tell ‘em, kid.”

She turned, still breathing unevenly, to find Bucky glancing between Sharon and Natasha with his eyebrows raised. “You need me up here to back you up on that?”

His shoulders were tensed, his eyes just a little harder than usual, and Steph realised with a flush of affection that he was getting ready to even the odds if they’d been ganging up on her. She drifted over to touch his cheek, guiding him to meet her eyes instead.

“I need you up here to go eat something before you start throwin’ up, Bucky.”

He looked surprised for a second, then mostly sheepish.

“I guess I-”

“Got distracted by your Tony’s new toys?”

“Lost track of time, I was going to say.”

“Yeah, because you were distracted by the big shiny machines.”

“Mostly the bike,” Tony offered cheerfully, coming up behind them. “I hear there are sandwiches.”

“Don’t let him steal yours,” Steph told her husband sternly, but spared a grin for Tony when he pouted like a child. “I made you your own, you big baby.”

Tony smiled as widely as he had the first time Steph had beat Clint at a video game she hadn’t completely understood.

“Your wife’s an angel,” he told Bucky; Steph’s husband nodded easily.

“I’ve known that since the first time she smiled at me.”

Steph elbowed him in the ribs.

“When you were six months old, you mean?”

“You bet.”

Natasha snorted; Steph caught her eye over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Low blood sugar makes people stupid, right?”

The Black Widow tossed her hair, expression fond.

“I’m fairly certain that’s all him.”

“Shame,” Steph murmured, touching her forehead to her husband’s for a second as he leaned into her. “You’d think I’d be used to you by now.”

“You really would.”

He kissed her quickly, then stepped away with a nod that had Tony falling in line without a word. “You come catch up when you’re ready, yeah?”

He wasn’t even going to listen in, Steph knew; he’d just let her handle it and tell him about it if she chose. Suddenly she wasn’t angry at all anymore- just a little sad, maybe, that Agent Thirteen had never had someone look at her like nothing else mattered in the world. 

“I’m ready now,” she decided, catching his hand so he’d wait up for her. As if he’d ever, _ever_ leave her behind. “I’m pretty sure we’re done here.”

 


End file.
